The Doom Long Feared
by Beruthiel10158
Summary: Vignette. Elrond first learns of his daughter's choice to wed Aragorn.


_All characters contained herein are the creation of JRR Tolkien and property of the Tolkien estate. I make no claims of ownership to anything mentioned in the story, and write solely for personal pleasure. No money has been or will be made from this writing._  
  
  


**The Doom Long Feared**

  
  
  
With gentle words and faltering voice, my daughter tells me she has pledged herself to Estel.  
  
Thus do I first hear the death-knell of the last remaining joy I have in Middle-earth. For of what worth is Imladrís, or any unstained Elf-realm that still remains in this abode of mortals, when I know that my youngest child has brought death to herself?   
  
Arwen stands before me, waiting. Standing tall and straight as she may, she tries to disguise her apprehension beneath a veil of pride, a gesture that, were it not for the graveness of the matter, would make me smile. But I am Elrond the Wise, and I read many hearts. Does she think I would not know the thought of my own child? My Evenstar is conflicted; she knew ere she entered herein how her choice would pain me, and so is fearful of my response. Her fear is not without merit, yet she meets my gaze with feinted boldness, almost as if she would dare me to forbid her desire. Even so, as we face one another her eyes bore into mine, pleading for approval and understanding.   
  
Countless thoughts flood my mind, few of them carrying acceptance or understanding, much less approval. Mercifully, wisdom overrules passion before I loose my thoughts into irretrievable speech and I recall the brash words of Thingol that wrought the fate of his own precious jewel. Still, I cannot but wonder; what would Arwen have me say? Even as she entered my chambers, requesting that we speak privately, I saw the ring that she bore upon her delicate hand. Barahir's ring, token of the house of my brother Elros, till recently borne upon the finger of Aragorn, once called Estel. It is a hateful site to me now. As it were the One Ring of the Enemy himself, the ring on my daughter's finger mocks me, telling me that my efforts to protect her have been for naught. I feel the same doom that ensnared Thingol, Beren, and Luthien, bearing down upon my house whether or not I condemn the choice of my daughter.   
  
Long indeed I feared the coming of this day. I first felt the shadow of doom upon my house when the son of Arathorn was born, and straightway I sent Arwen to dwell with her mother's kin in Lórien. What I feared then, I knew not, only that a shadow lay on my mind in the matter of the latest Dúnadan where my only daughter was concerned. So it was that I spoke no word of Arwen for many years, and bade all others to do the same. Elladan and Elrohir thought my wish strange, though fear of bringing a curse upon their sister held my tongue and never did I offer explanation. But perhaps they too felt the looming darkness, for they kept all thoughts of their sister to themselves. And it was with much doubt that I gave leave years later for Arwen to return again to my House, at her own request. Our time apart was made all the more brutal by Celebrían's absence, and I no more desired to keep separated my family that remained than did any of my beloved children. Longing prevailed against foreboding, and Arwen returned home. Alas! that my fear was true, and the son of Arathorn turned his eyes toward my treasure. It is a bitter irony that desire to have my family together may well have ensured that it will be forever sundered.   
  
And where now is Aragorn, since he has visited doom upon my child? Since infancy he has been my son, and I love him; there is ought of mine that I would have denied him, save this only, that he should have Arwen Undómiel for his wife. Was he heedless of my words when I declared that he might not look to her for a bride? A brash and reckless Man he has become, if it is in his thought now that he may claim for his own the most valued possession of his benefactor, or if he thinks himself worthy of so rich a gift. Does he know what he asks of me, of her? Or is the Man so besotted with desire for the prize he seeks that he cares not what love of him will cost Arwen? Prudent is he to have gone back into the wild after his stay in Lórien, rather than return to my House after his treachery.   
  
Too often already have I been called upon to endure the grievous hurts of being sundered from those I held most dear. I have accepted the departure of my wife and must face the days that remain of my time in Middle-earth without her sweet presence to grace these my walls, and my brother took upon himself the gift of the One to Men a full Age hence, when the time of reckoning came that his choice demanded its due price. I had not known true pain till then. Ere that day, I knew that Men die and leave the world forever, but though Elros took the kinship of the Secondborn, I did not feel the true sting of death till the very day it laid claim to him that I cherished. Confronted now with the possibility of losing another I love to the same fate, without the comforting knowledge of a distant but eventual reunion to salve it, the wound of that earlier sundering is torn open as the memory floods my awareness, and my heart bleeds anew.   
  
I will not suffer this, that I should lose my daughter to such unrelenting pain.   
  
Arwen. Does she know what she has inflicted upon me? What words did she wish me to say, when her own were of a doom she cannot comprehend? She has never yet known the grief of mortal death, the sorrow that comes of knowing someone she loved is lost to her ere the world's end. It is unnatural for Elves to know such sorrow, for Elvendeath is not everlasting, and time for an immortal is of little worth when death is brief. Yet that is why Elves are not quick to befriend those of mortal birth; such pain is nigh unbearable for those who must face the long ages of Arda sundered for time immeasurable from those they loved most. And my daughter knows not what the doom of Men may mean to her who has lived untouched by Time all her days. Does she think it a trifle matter, that she could bear to feel death overtaking her, little by little, for the love of a Man who has lived scarce more than a half a century while she has trod the grass of Arda for three millennia? The ravages of time would be all too keen to her senses if she were to choose Men as her kindred, for mortality would seize and cling to her fair form at the very moment of her choosing. And Aragorn has lived much of his life already, though his span will be far longer than any of his kin before him. The years Arwen would spend with him were they to wed would be as the life of a fly beside the days of her life hence. My heart cannot, _will not_, allow her to pay that price for the love of any Man.   
  
Yet even as I prepare to forbid her with my lips, I see the Doom of Men. It is there already, enshrouded in her radiant face, driving ever deeper the knife of loss into my thrice-broken heart. Loth am I to know what words the Dúnadan spoke to ensnare her, but already her heart has chosen. Rage fills me then, and if the Man I erringly named Estel were here, he would not live long to regret his denial of my command. How dare he--   
  
As quickly as it welled within me, the sudden whirlwind of anger melts to regret when I look once more into Arwen's pleading eyes. She perceives the target of my sudden wrath and holds up her hands, desperately appealing to my heart to find understanding of her decision and her love. Moisture is making the grey depths of her eyes glisten, and I am struck dumb. It has often been remarked how closely Arwen resembles me in appearance, but I realize suddenly that her eyes are those of Celebrían. I see the face of my wife in our daughter's countenance, and at once I am walking in Lórien beside the maiden who, despite the initial misgivings of another disapproving father, became my wife and filled my life with the blazing, unquenchable light of joy and hope even in the darkest moments of this world. In Arwen's face, Celebrían speaks to me from across the Sea, reminding me of things I had forgotten in my efforts to shield my child and to spare myself from more pain.   
  
Thoughts of my wife overwhelm me. I cannot now bear to be the cause of any tears that were to fall from Arwen's eyes, not when she came to me in peace hoping to receive my blessing. So do all my words of denial wither unspoken, and suddenly overborne with weariness and yearning for my own dear love, I can say naught at all, but only nod in silent acceptance. My daughter is not gladdened by my wordless gesture, but it satisfies her for the present. I suspect that she senses my need now for solitude, to rest and to reflect. With her starlit smile, the Evenstar kisses my brow and takes her leave, now going, I believe, to speak of her choice to her brethren.   
  
The desire of my father-heart was, and is still, to forbid Arwen. To bring Aragorn to an early and unforeseen death with mine own hands. To wrest from all my children the right given by the One for them to choose their kindred. But I am Elrond the Wise, and I must needs be heedful of the future, for the foresight of the Elves has come upon me and I see that there is no way to change the fate Arwen wrought for herself when she trothed herself to Aragorn. But this I will swear, though it may be of no consequence in the end. If Aragorn the Ranger wishes to have the hand of my daughter, he first must earn it. Though she loves him, my daughter, my precious Undómiel, will not forfeit her life for a Man in exile. If she will be wedded to a Man at all, it will be to a King.   
  
Ah, my dear daughter! Joy only I wish for you, and if he is proven worthy, I will not deny your wish to be cleaved to Aragorn. But it is no small thing you ask of me, and I fear that ere the end road, you will find bitter this choice you have made.   
  
  


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